A victory over 'Lord of the Links' proved fleeting

Tom Kirvan
Legal News, Editor-in-Chief

In professional golf circles, a recent May weekend featured the annual playing of the AT&T Byron Nelson, a Texas tournament that serves as a posthumous tribute to its legendary namesake.

“Lord Byron,” as he was fondly known during his playing days in the 1930s and ‘40s, ranks as one of the greats in the history of golf, winning 11 consecutive tournaments and 18 in all during the 1945 season, while also capturing five major championships over the course of his legendary career.

And yet, despite his Hall of Fame resume, the Congressional Gold Medal honoree never beat my dad.

At least on the par-5 fifth hole at Bellerive Country Club in St. Louis.

It was a late spring day in 1967, a year when the hometown Cardinals would win the World Series title, that a one-hole golf match for the ages took place in what my father humbly termed his “greatest athletic achievement.”

The occasion was a national press event to spotlight the unveiling of some new model cars. Lord Byron was on hand to lend class to an otherwise lackluster field of media duffers and prominent local officials.

For many of those assembled at the swank country club, it seemed like yesterday that Nelson was dominating the sport, a man to be feared in every tournament he entered before retiring in his prime at the age of 34. In “retirement,” Nelson became a success in business and would later lay claim to becoming perhaps golf’s greatest ambassador of goodwill.

But back to that day in 1967, some 21 years after Nelson called it quits on the pro tour. He was at Bellerive in a dual role – as golf teacher and ambassador – traveling the course alone in a cart, ducking from one foursome to another to play a few holes with the guests.

Immediately after joining my father’s foursome on the fourth hole, Nelson witnessed a less-than-stellar drive by dear old dad. Apparently taking pity on my father, Nelson invited him to hop in his cart for the remainder of the hole that had started so inauspiciously.

“You have a smooth swing and your set-up is good,” Nelson reportedly told my father. “You should be able to hit good shots consistently if you really believe you can.”

That piece of simple advice, which my father may well have had emblazoned on his golf bag, would come in particularly handy on the next hole.

After matching drive for drive and second shot for second shot, the two golfers each took aim on 80-yard approach shots to a green surrounded by traps. Nelson hit first, uncharacteristically finding a bunker with his wedge shot. My dad, just as uncharacteristically, stuck his approach shot to within 8 feet of the pin, setting the stage for some golf heroics.

Nelson came out of the trap in great style to within 3 feet, and calmly sank his par putt.

His opponent, a study of coolness, stood over his 8-footer for the win, draining the tricky putt to set off a celebration in which the crowd went wild.

Sort of.

“In my mind, I turned somersaults, danced and pranced around the green, as bands played – if only to me,” my dad recounted years later. “It was a glorious achievement – to take down Lord Byron, even if it was just one measly hole.”

Ever the gentleman, Nelson offered his congratulations on a hole well played.

“Nicely done, but I hope you’ll give me a rematch,” Nelson pleaded to my father as they walked off the green.

“I will, Byron, I certainly will,” my father replied.

The rematch started on the next hole and quickly turned into “no contest,” as Nelson put on a clinic over the next four holes, recording three birdies and an easy par to cement his status as a flawless shot-maker even at age 55.

“He then moved on to another group,” my dad said of the two-time Masters’ champion. “He gave me a wink as he departed, which I took as a message never to believe in fool’s gold, especially on a golf course.”